The Words Are Hard to Say
by xoarv
Summary: Arthur and Merlin's fledgling relationship is going well, so why isn't Arthur happier about it? Sequel to Learning to Be Happy. As with the first installation, this is a hard T. Modern AU.
1. Moving Out

This is the sequel to Learning to Be Happy. As usual, reviews are much appreciated! Thank you so much for all the support and love. You guys are great. xoxo, Molly

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" huffs Arthur, pulling a box up the steps. "Why we couldn't hire movers, I don't know."

"Movers," pants Merlin, pulling a much skinnier box than Arthur, "are expensive."

"Yes, and so is back surgery," retorts Arthur, breathing heavily at the top of the stairs. "Jesus, I'm going to pass out by the time we get up to the flat."

"Let's consider our old flat," says Merlin, "and then shut the fuck up."

Arthur smiles in spite of himself. Merlin is a fucking idiot, but he's _his _fucking idiot and the fact that moving makes him sweaty doesn't really help Arthur's cause. But still. Thank God there are elevators in the lobby to take them up to their fourth floor flat.

It was Arthur who had suggested the move first.

"Merlin," he'd breathed into Merlin's ear one night, their flat lit by the lights of the city outside, "how would you feel about moving in with me?"

Merlin smiles, rolls over into Arthur so their faces are so close none of Arthur's features are distinct – just feather smoothness in the light of streetlamps.

"I'd love to, but I think we have a problem."

"And what's that?" Arthur wants to know.

"I already did that about a year and a half ago, you twit."

Arthur laughs. "I know," he says, rolling once more onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. "But I'm ready to get out of this place. I've got some money saved up since I was promoted and my father's offered to give us a little money to move out."

"You talked to your father about this," says Merlin quietly, and Arthur glances over at him. Merlin is looking over at their kitchenette, away from Arthur.

"Merlin," says Arthur softly, "He's my _father."_

"Your father who kicked you out," says Merlin. "Your father who doesn't like me."

"First of all," says Arthur defensively, "we agreed that me being kicked out was a good thing, right?"

Merlin sighs. "Yes."

"And secondly, my father likes you fine."

Merlin scoffs at this, rolls back toward Arthur, his chin resting on Arthur's shoulder. "Your father," he says clearly, "thinks I'm an idiot."

"You _are _an idiot," says Arthur, but when Merlin doesn't respond, he regrets it a little. "Come on, Merlin." Merlin remains silent, and Arthur groans. "Merlin…"

"What."

"I don't want to have to get gushy."

"You're lying in bed naked with me, you twat, just after you asked me to move in with you."

Arthur groans, kissing Merlin quickly on the cheek. "I love you, okay, you prat? Now, could you shut up about my father?"

Merlin grins at the ceiling. "I missed that first part. Could you say it again?"

"Fuck you."

Merlin kisses Arthur and whispers obnoxiously, far too loudly to be sweet, "You already do that."


	2. Settling In

Truth be told, Arthur misses the old flat just a bit. It was kind of nice in a way that Arthur couldn't quite explain, but he'd never tell Merlin that, not in a million years, after all the convincing he had to do to get Merlin to move on.

Merlin is a very sentimental person, to say the least, so packing took hours whereas it would've taken Arthur minutes. Also, Merlin is horrid at packing, so next to Arthur's clearly marked boxes that are neatly taped are massively crumpled boxes with no labels whatsoever holding a variety of shit that Merlin just threw in there when he reached it. But, of course, he didn't even _throw _it in there – each item had to be reflected on first.

"Do you remember when you made me chicken that one time?" Merlin had sighed over the frying pan.

("Shut the fuck up and pack," Arthur had responded waspishly.)

"Arthur, remember how we watched _Love, Actually _on Christmas?" Merlin had oohed while packing the DVDs.

("Say that again and I'll make you regret it.")

When Merlin got to the lawn chairs, he stood gazing at them, misty-eyed, for three full minutes before Arthur seized them and threw them into the KITCHEN box.

But it was the place he and Merlin had met and – gag him – fallen in _love. _

Even now, Arthur can't quite believe that he's saying this a) about a man and b) about _Merlin, _but then Merlin does something like help an old woman across the street – like in _movies, Jesus – _or buy Arthur flowers like they're in a fucking high school romance, and it's so stupid that it makes Arthur's insides feel like they're gagging, but in a really nice way.

That's what love has been like. Or at least loving Merlin. It's like he's just so _fucking dumb _and he makes Arthur dumb and together they're dumb and sometimes they snog which seems like such a dumb fucking idea but it just happens and Arthur's stopped questioning why. Merlin does all this complete shit and then Arthur does shit because Merlin has done shit and their whole relationship is just a giant _shit, _but Arthur would rather die than come home and find Merlin gone.

And now in this flat they actually have a double bed, not just two twin mattresses shoved together (Merlin was always slipping in the crack in the middle – he was so skinny, Jesus.) And they have a proper kitchen, not just a counter and a sink and a fridge, but an actual _room. _It's still not the nicest place—the whole thing smells like cheap perfume and carpeting, but it's a start, and it feels new to go with the newness Arthur's trying to embrace.

Up until a few months ago, Arthur was positive he was both straight and happy, and then he found out he was neither, and now he's gay and happy. Well, happy, at least. Sometimes.

If he's being properly honest, Arthur's not sure of anything. Secretly, he thought the new flat would seal everything in, convince him that this is what he's supposed to be doing, living with Merlin, but it hasn't at all.

It's not that Arthur doesn't think he loves Merlin, because he does – Merlin makes him stupid, but the best kind of stupidity he's ever felt.

But it's still stupidity.

Arthur has gay friends now. Well, he and _Merlin _have gay friends now. He and his boyfriend. (Sometimes it still feels like he's living someone else's life.)

The thing about his and Merlin's gay friends is that they have super gay names.

"Thaddeus and Crispyn want to have drinks," remarks Merlin, unpacking one of his boxes. Arthur turns to look at him – he's discarded his shirt, _Christ – _and raises his eyebrows.

"Merlin. Thaddeus and Crispyn?"

"We like them."

"_You _like them."

"You like them too," says Merlin, frowning and putting a picture on his bedside table. It's Arthur and Merlin in Hyde Park a few months ago, the first time Arthur had been willing to hold Merlin's hand in public because it had taken him so long to be comfortable being gay _in public _let alone in private. And even though Merlin had been wonderful letting him have time with his self-discovery, he was so happy that Arthur was finally ready to be his boyfriend in public that they took a picture – well, a stranger took a picture – and the picture makes Merlin laugh because Arthur's holding his hand but he's also scowling, and Merlin is beaming like a child.

"I barely know them."

"So…no," says Merlin, still frowning. Arthur hates it when he frowns. It means he's upset, but he won't admit it.

"I don't care," lies Arthur. "If you want to, we will."

"I want you to want to," says Merlin honestly, and Arthur groans.

"Merlin, I just don't fit in with your gay friends," says Arthur, trying to be kind about it. He corrects himself. "_Our _gay friends. They're nice – but I still don't even know if I'm gay and they…they _so are."_

"I'm gay," says Merlin. "I'm one hundred percent gay." For effect, he adds, "Vaginas are gross."

Arthur laughs, but turns back to organizing the bookshelf. (Merlin had thrown books on it at random.)

"But you don't make me feel dumb for not being sure if I am," says Arthur quietly, and Merlin smiles to himself.

"Neither do Thaddeus and Crispyn," says Merlin, but it's half-hearted. He knows that it's not the kind of coupley friends he and Arthur are supposed to have. He knows Arthur's not into gay bars or theatre, or _anything _stereotypicallygay, and Merlin wouldn't even think Arthur liked men if it weren't for the way he – well…you know.

Fucked.

Merlin blushes at the thought – even though his sex life has exponentially increased in the past few months, it still makes him blush to think about when he's not actually _doing it. _(Arthur, similarly, has trouble thinking that he takes _that _and puts it _there _now.)

"We can go visit Morgana and Gwen," says Arthur as a compromise. "You love them."

"Well, _yes," _says Merlin, but he's still frowning and Arthur hates it.

"Stop frowning," he orders, because he can't stand to see Merlin look like that, and Merlin actually does, because he's laughing at him.

"You're so shit at emotions," Merlin laughs, and he goes over to kiss Arthur. "You're absolute _shit _at them."

"Yes, well," grumbles Arthur, "you're shit at organizing. And dressing properly. And everything."

Merlin would be offended if he didn't know that was Arthur's equivalent of 'I love you.'


	3. I Love You

Visiting Morgana makes Arthur feel better. He doesn't know why, but it seems like ever since he had that mental breakdown in front of her, they've grown closer. It's easier to view each other as actual people, it seems. He doesn't mind her ordering him around because he's no good at telling her he cares either, and that's the closest Morgana really gets sometimes. She's so fucking stubborn. But he does care for her, as a brother to a sister. She's just obnoxious.

"Merlin!" says Morgana excitedly when she answers the door, pushing Arthur aside to hug Merlin. "You haven't been to magic club in two weeks and I dislike it immensely." She looks at Arthur with unveiled disgust. "Arthur, you're stupid and boring. Come in."

Arthur scowls at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

It's the closest they really get to telling the other they care.

Gwen is at the stove, hair pulled back, looking flushed. "Hello, Arthur," she says, having the decency to greet Arthur first because she knows he hates it when no one ever does. She smiles. "Hello, Merlin." If there's been anyone more excited about Arthur and Merlin than Gwen, Arthur would like to meet them. Gwen is practically over the _moon _about the two of them.

"She just likes to see you happy," Morgana keeps saying, and Arthur supposes it's true.

She really is that fucking sweet. Honestly, it's exhausting just to be friends with. But a nice kind of exhausting.

They eat lamb for lunch, which is way too elaborate but Arthur's cooking and he cooks lamb best and secretly he wants to show off for Merlin a bit, so no one really objects. And, honestly, he's the best cook of the four of them.

"This," says Merlin through a mouthful of rice, "is _delicious."_

Arthur pretends he isn't gratified by the praise. "Don't speak when you're _chewing, _Merlin, Christ."

Merlin, in response, makes a show of chomping on his food even more.

"It's like you don't even like each other," says Morgana incredulously. "You're always _bickering."_

"Oh, I don't like him at all," says Merlin. He turns to Arthur and deftly kisses him on the cheek. "Not even a bit."

He stands to clean off his plate, only catching sight of Arthur's telling blush in the mirror above the sink.

Arthur hates his biology sometimes – for making him _blush _and shake when Merlin's around, for making his stomach strangle his vocal chords when Merlin says something particularly revolting, for making him seize Merlin's face and kiss him severely, which Merlin says is nice, but could be scaled back just a bit but when he's caught up in the moment but Arthur can't care less what Merlin thinks.

Actually – Arthur _never _cares what Merlin thinks when it comes to his kissing.

Christ.

"I don't understand you two," sighs Morgana, slicking her hair back in one hand. "I don't understand your relationship at all."

"Well that's good," retorts Arthur hotly, "because I'm really not asking you to."

Actually, the fact that Morgana doesn't understand their relationship makes Arthur feel immensely better because he doesn't understand it either, and if someone outside of their relationship can't it means it's not just him.

Arthur has never been really comfortable being alone – look at last year: he only lasted a month on his own before Merlin.

But it doesn't stop Arthur from worrying. Constantly. Actually, that's Arthur's _modus operandi, _to be quite honest: worrying. He can't shut off his brain, it's always cycling through all the things he's done wrong, how he's mucked things up with Merlin, how Merlin could walk out the door any moment, that relationships hardly ever last, that there's nothing stopping Merlin from just _leaving, _that Arthur doesn't deserve Merlin, he doesn't deserve him _at all _and also Arthur wants to tell Merlin he's in love with him, not just that he loves him, because they feel different, Arthur's in love with Merlin, but whenever he goes to say it, the words get curbed behind his teeth, leaving skid marks on his brain.

"Arthur," says Merlin when they're pretending to fall asleep that night. "What's wrong?"

Arthur is sure to keep his voice casual. "Oh, you know. Just me."

Merlin shimmies his skinny body next to Arthur's, his long, slender fingers wrapping around Arthur's bicep. "Tell me."

Arthur sighs. "I don't want to." He catches sight of Merlin's face, which is sadder than is reasonable for a human being, he looks like a fucking clubbed baby seal, fuck, and feels immediately chastened. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, I don't want to feel it and if I don't address it, it makes me feel better."

"Well," says Merlin smoothly, "that's bullshit."

"I hate feeling things, Merlin," confesses Arthur, "and then knowing I hate it is a feeling and then I realize I'm feeling things and then it's weird because I don't want to." He pauses. "Does that make sense?"

"Not even in the slightest," says Merlin, smiling. "But I understood it anyway."

"And sometimes being with you is horrible," Arthur continues, "because you make me feel so fucking much, and sometimes it's good and sometimes it's bad, but I can't even tell the difference. You know? As if I'm thinking too much about thinking and feeling too much about feeling."

"Arthur," says Merlin, his breath wind over Arthur's skin. It gives him goosebumps, little mountains on his skin. "I absolutely love you."

"Merlin—"

"Oy," says Merlin, still smiling. "Let me finish."

Arthur groans. "What."

"I absolutely love you, Arthur Pendragon, and I don't care if it takes you months or years or millennia to figure out how you feel, because I know you love me, and I'll wait. I'd wait for thousands of years for you, Arthur, and I don't care if you don't think you're really _gay _gay or something like that, or if you don't want gay friends or even if you'd rather not call me your boyfriend when you're at work because you're afraid of people seeing you different, because I know you'll come around. Because I absolutely love you, Arthur, and I know you love me, too."

Now would be a good time for Arthur to say he's in love with Merlin but the words get stuck on his tongue, the taste of consequences choking him.

"Thank you," is all he can manage, and it's not even _romantic, _it sounds like he's thanking a waiter, for fuck's sake, but it doesn't matter to Merlin, not at all. Because Merlin, he can hear the way Arthur's breath hitches before he says it, and he knows that soon Arthur will say "I love you" without being afraid.

But for now all he can do is watch Arthur fall asleep, still settling into himself. His prince.

…sometimes even Merlin wants to gag about their relationship.


	4. Teach Me

On Friday, the sun is bright and golden in the London sky, a Byzantine halo. The cool air is pouring in through the flat's open windows, and Arthur is cooking breakfast. He actually _likes _cooking, even though his father made learning how to cook more like boot camp. But he still likes the smells of the spices and the way he doesn't measure anything, just knows intuitively how much to put in, and the way all these jumbled pieces form to make a whole thing, a piece of art, really. He's making frittatas with peppers, and Merlin is practically salivating before he's even awake.

Eyes still closed, he murmurs from the bed, "If those aren't frittatas with peppers, I will kill you."

Arthur, grinning, wafts the smell of them toward Merlin, who hums delightedly. "I love you," he sighs, and Arthur laughs.

"Honestly, Merlin, I'm going to have to give you and the frittatas a room…"

Eyes snapping open, Merlin jaunts to the kitchen and steals a bite from the frying pan. Through a full mouth, he cheekily tells Arthur, "Nope. I don't mind threesomes."

"You, me, and frittatas," laughs Arthur. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know," sighs Merlin melodramatically. "That's why you love me."

"Whatever," says Arthur. "Let's just eat, okay?" After a pause, he says, "Fuck you. I love you too."

Arthur wishes it were easier for him to be comfortable with their relationship. He wishes he were closer to being a good boyfriend, or an actual boyfriend at all. He wishes he didn't constantly worry what people were thinking of him whenever Merlin kisses him in public (it's London Arthur no one cares it's London, says his head, but it doesn't matter). He wishes he were less emotionally crippled, but Uther raised his son as a modern-day prince, not someone who was supposed to be _emotional _and _communicative. _Royalty doesn't need to be; they can pay people to tell others they love them.

That kind of summed up Arthur's childhood, actually. He wonders, not for the first time, if his mother was affectionate.

And so on his lunch break, Arthur visits Morgana because she's somehow managed not to grow up emotionally crippled.

"I decided to visit you because you've somehow managed not to grow up emotionally crippled," says Arthur when Morgana opens the door. "And I need you to teach me."

Morgana laughs slightly, but it's not at him, and he appreciates that.

"Arthur, what's this about?"

Arthur brushes past her into her flat, pacing. "Merlin is a really great person."

"Right," agrees Morgana, "he is. What about it?"

"Well – I – _I love him, _you know? And when I was having my little breakdown last year, it was so easy to say. I just spat it out like saying hello and goodbye—which is how Merlin says it, mind you—and now it's hard, because I have to mean it. And I do, I really do, I just I want to say it and then I can't and how did you grow up to be able to say these things?" Arthur looks at her bewilderedly.

Morgana laughs again, but it's not really funny. In fact, she doesn't look happy at all.

"Arthur," she says softly, "what on earth makes you think I didn't grow up emotionally crippled?"

"Because you're – _you," _says Arthur, as if this is empirical proof. Morgana shakes her head.

"Arrthur, when's the last time I told you I loved you?"

"It doesn't—"

"_Arthur."_

Arthur thinks about it, really thinks about it. And truth be told, he can't remember the last time she outright said it. She'd said it in actions, obviously. But never in words.

"You're emotionally crippled too!" says Arthur excitedly, as if he's just reached this revelation. "Father fucked you up as well!"

Morgana smiles wanly. "Yes, Uther did quite the job of messing us up, didn't he?" Sitting in her arm chair, she asks Arthur, "Why do you think I'm such a snarky bitch sometimes? It's because I don't know how to be anything else."

"No," breathes Arthur, as if he can't believe it. (He can't.)

"Honestly," laughs Morgana, genuinely this time, "you're quite dense when it comes to this stuff."

"_Yes," _says Arthur emphatically. "That's what I'm trying to say."

"Here's my advice, Arthur," says Morgana firmly. "It's advice I can never follow. But I have faith in you: _just do it. _The more frightened you are, the more you should do it. The harder it is to say 'I love you,' the more you should say it. Say it until it's reflex. Because one day you'll wake up and realize you meant it all along and now Merlin knows it."

"I don't know how to—"

Morgana shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Just do it." She pauses. "For me. For both of us. One of us needs to learn."

When they say goodbye, there is an awkward pause.

"I – I love you," says Arthur, the words clumsy, but he's forced them out. He feels sort of relieved.

Morgana looks at him sadly. "Goodbye, Arthur. I – you're a prat."

And Arthur realizes he has to say it to Merlin so Morgana can say it to him. Because the world is fucking scary when you can't say 'I love you.'


	5. A Return and a Departure

Arthur runs up the stairs to the flat, the words pounding in his head like an anthem. _I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you, Merlin, I do._

And he's panting by the time he gets to the top stair, sweating, even, but he's got to get it out soon or he'll forget or chicken out, and it's really Morgana's face that's reminding him he has to do this, or it will be too late and he'll look like Morgana when she could say 'I love you.' She looked sadder than he'd ever seen her, and he wants to make her happy and himself happy and most importantly, Merlin happy. There are two steps to the door now and Arthur's exploding out of his skin, diffusing along with his sweat and he's fiddling with the key in the lock and it won't unlock properly but that's fine, he jiggles it and it works and

"Merlin," says Arthur hoarsely, the anticipation building, the words choking off even his brain, "I lo—_argh what?"_

Because Merlin's not in the foyer. But Sophie is.

"Hiya, Arthur," she laughs breathily, and her voice is like a gunshot.

"Sophie," says Arthur, struggling to keep his voice calm, "what are you doing in my flat?"

"Oh," says Sophie, as if she hadn't noticed, "I'm sorry for intruding. Gwen gave me the address and said you'd be home, and the door was unlocked, and…" she pauses, smiling delicately. "Here I am."

"Is – is Merlin here?" Arthur asks, his head pounding.

"Who's Merlin?" asks Sophie, and there are lines in her forehead, she genuinely doesn't know.

Arthur is going to _kill _Gwen. She probably thought Arthur was _so _beyond fucked up now that he could handle this and Merlin would be home anyway—where was Merlin, anyway? Christ—and she was such a good person that she honestly believed this situation was fine. Of course, it was entirely Merlin's fault he had left the door unlocked, he kept doing that despite Arthur's insistence it wasn't _safe, _but Merlin always lost his key and so he kept doing it anyway.

Shitfuckfuckbugger.

"Merlin is—" begins Arthur, but then he can't describe it and can't say it out loud, not to _Sophie, _so he manages a croaky, "—never mind."

"You know," says Sophie, looking at her nails, "you just stopped calling."

This is so beyond Arthur that he can't even accurately describe what is happening to him right now. His ex-girlfriend—hell, _fuck buddy—_is sitting in his flat, trying to broach the subject of feelings. _Feelings._ And his boyfriend could be home at any moment. _Boyfriend. Home. Fuck._

"Er," says Arthur skillfully, "Sophie, we just—we just fucked around, you know? It wasn't serious."

"Wasn't it?" asks Sophie. "Tell me, did you ever fuck another girl while we were together?"

"We weren't _together, Sophie," _groans Arthur. "We screwed around."

"_Did you, Arthur?" _asks Sophie shrilly, and Arthur wants to kill himself a little.

"No," he says as evenly as possible, "I didn't. But I did a lot of things other than fucking."

If Sophie is upset by this, Arthur can't tell. She's still looking down.

"I really loved you, Arthur," says Sophie. "Did you ever know that?"

Arthur looks at her, tries to make out the expression on her face and in her voice. He can't.

"No," he says honestly, "I didn't. And I still—" Sophie looks up, finally, her eyes genuinely sad. Sophie is _sad. _What's happening. Fuck. "I still don't do emotions well, Sophie." He rubs the back of his neck. "Sophie, we fucked for a few months. We did a lot of shit."

"I could've died," says Sophie sharply. "That night in the car. I could've _died. _And you never called. Never asked to see how I was."

"My father cut off communication," says Arthur, but it's an empty excuse, because to be honest, he hadn't thought about Sophie at all since that night, except in relation to Merlin. Sophie had faded off his map as quickly as he thought he'd faded off hers.

"I kept calling you," she says, pursing her lips delicately. "And when you didn't answer, I called Morgana, and then I stopped." She's crying, Arthur realizes vaguely. She's _crying. _"I gave up on you, Arthur, but I never really did. And then the other day I ran into Gwen, and asked how you were on a whim, and she told me you'd moved in here and - I just wound up sitting here, waiting for you to show up, to say something to you, to shout at you, but it all ended up going out the window." The tears are falling down her cheeks now. "I still—I still love you, Arthur."

Arthur wanders over to her, crouches by her. "Sophie," he says, stuttering a little, "I—I didn't even know. I thought you knew we were just mucking about."

"I did," said Sophie, wiping her eyes. "I knew that. But I kept thinking that every time we slept together, I'd wake up and you'd be there."

To hear it all from Sophie's view is horrible and humbling. And even though Sophie was an idiot, he realized that he'd been an even bigger fuck to her.

"Sophie," says Arthur, quietly, and he's thinking _just do it, just say it, _"I'm very sorry. I never—I never realized—I was an arse," he manages finally. "And—I'm not that person anymore. And I apologize for what I did to you."

"Arthur," sighs Sophie, and Arthur can see the tears collecting on her eyelashes, "Please tell me you're going to do things better this time around."

"There isn't a 'this time around,' Sophie," says Arthur quickly but gently. "We had our shot."

"Arthur," echoes Sophie again, and the sound is so mournful, Arthur's heart aches for her. "Don't you miss it?" Her breath is on his cheeks. "Don't you miss us? Going out with Matt and Brian and Lola and me? And drinking until we couldn't see." She laughs sadly. "We had good times. Remember when the stripper on Fleet followed Brian home?"

"We thought he was going to get mugged," says Arthur, but the memory is funny still, because they were so drunk.

Sophie giggles a little. "We had so much _fun, _Arthur." And then she lowers her voice, her lips brushing Arthur's ear as she leans in. "Don't you miss when things were uncomplicated? When you didn't have to think too much about _who you are_ and _what you're doing with your life. _It was just you and me, Arthur, having fun. Don't you wish you could have fun again?"

There's an uncomfortable pit in Arthur's stomach like a seed. It's because she's right, Sophie is. Arthur wishes more than ever he could go back to those times, before he had to try hard and work at relationships and worry about other people.

"Arthur," whispers Sophie, "just say something."

Arthur's heart is beating too fast he can hear it in his ears it's pounding like a war drum.

"I—can't—" Arthur stammers. "I—just can't."

But Sophie's wrapping her arms around Arthur's neck, her body already rising up to him, his hands acting on their own accord, encircling her waist, his skin soaking in her perfume that's so familiar – it's flowery but it's also the smell of pavement and vodka rocks and the bong Arthur chucked when he moved out and sweaty, glittering clubs in London. When Sophie kisses him, Arthur is already two steps ahead, working on the buttons to her jeans, and she's tearing off the Oxford shirt he wore to work and he's pushing her against a wall, her hips reaching out to him like a radio wave. Just like old times.

"Arthur," she gasps, and the sound is swallowed up by the music of the past, Arthur's strong arms supporting her legs wrapped around his waist.

When Sophie leaves, Arthur takes three showers. There's a dirt on his skin he can't wash off. He feels like Lady Macbeth, like there's blood on his hands that can't be wiped away. He's washed the sheets and straightened up but no matter what he cleans, there's still Sophie on him, and worse, it's the fact that he's just cheated on Merlin. His boyfriend. Of many months. Whom he loves.

When Merlin comes in, he's tired and exhausted, and when he kisses Arthur, he can feel Arthur's muscles stiffen.

"Arthur? What's wrong? You look like you're ill."

Arthur feels ill he feels repulsive he can't believe all because of Sophie and her tears and wanting to be young again fuck fuck fuck

"Arthur?"

And when he looks up at Merlin, the words that he wants to say don't come out at all. Because he ends up exploding in a half-sob, "I think we should break up."

The impact does not strike Merlin right away.

"Arthur, what?" His forehead is dangerously low, and he's biting his lip. _"What?"_

"I—" says Arthur, but he can't repeat it again. The words die in his throat.

But Merlin's already heard them once. "What do you mean 'we should break up' I thought – _I thought you loved me."_

"I don't – I do," stutters Arthur, and none of this is what he had planned, he wants to tell Merlin he _loves _him not that he wants to break up _fuck _why isn't this coming out right why are the words leaping off cliffs like lemmings—

"You're—you're—" Merlin is shouting, but words have failed him; he's broken and battered, and he looks as repulsed by Arthur as Arthur feels by himself. "Fuck you," says Merlin. "Just – _fuck you." _And he's crying. Arthur isn't sure if he is.

Arthur is just standing there, watching Merlin cry and wanting to die but he isn't doing anything at all.

"I'm going out," announces Merlin, words caked in venom. "And don't expect me back."

When he leaves, Arthur lies in their bed crying, Merlin's side still unmade, his imprint still in his bed.


	6. Living After

Arthur doesn't eat for days. He doesn't sleep, doesn't shower, doesn't call Morgana or Gwen or his father. He doesn't go into work. He lies by the phone, listening to his boss call, reprimanding him. It doesn't matter.

Sophie calls twice, inviting him out. She's inebriated both times, hiccoughing through a few shots of tequila. "Arth—_Arthur! _Fun times were had, yeah? Let's talk okay? Come out with _uuuss! _Come on, Brian wants to talk to you—fuck, Brian, say something—" there is a gurgling sound "—haha that was Brian. Okay I love you, bye!"

Arthur listens to the messages in a dull stupor. She loves him.

She doesn't even know who he is.

_He _doesn't even know who he is.

The only person who ever did was Merlin, and Arthur's just ruined everything.

Morgana visits on the fifth day of his mourning, or at least tries to. She knocks furiously on the door, and Arthur can hear her voice.

"Arthur Pendragon, _open up! _I've heard what's happened and you need to come to the door right now or—or—so help me I don't know what I'll do!" There is a pause while she waits. "Fuck you, Arthur!" she shouts desperately. "You're—a coward!"

She doesn't know that the words don't mean anything, because he's heard them all and they're all true.

Arthur spends two more days like this until Morgana breaks into his flat.

"What the _actual fuck, Morgana!" _shouts Arthur, leaping out of bed. Morgana has jimmied the lock open using a hairpin, a credit card, and what looks like brute force.

"I've had about enough of you being a shitface," says Morgana clearly, "so you're going to first take a shower because I can't breathe. Then we're going to have tea and we're going to talk about Merlin."

The word is a dull shock – Arthur hasn't heard his name in a week now, and it hurts just as much now as he thought it would. But it's a sharp alarm, too, because Arthur finds himself wandering toward the shower.

Morgana makes Earl Grey for them both, and they sip their tea for a few minutes before Morgana says, softly, "Arthur, what happened?"

Arthur starts crying, and it terrifies Morgana. He's just crying into his tea, splashing all down his front, not even bothering to wipe them away, just sobbing, face red, as if he's had days of tears built up inside him. (He has.)

"Arthur," says Morgana again, and she gets up to stand next to him, putting a hand awkwardly on his shoulder. "Arthur—I—I love you, Arthur," she says finally, and it's only this admission that makes Arthur start to calm down.

"I fucked up," he says, voice hitching. "I fucked up a lot."

"What happened," repeats Morgana gently. "You'll feel better when you get it out."

Arthur bites his lip and then the words spring out of him like a bullet. "I fucked Sophie." He laughs hysterically. "I fucked her. I came home and she was just—she was there—and then one thing led to another and when Merlin came home he was so perfect that I just—I couldn't tell him." He's crying harder, the tears blurring his words. "I couldn't tell him, so I dumped him."

His face is red, the vein in his forehead is throbbing, and he's just crying into his hands. He looks up at Morgana, and he's such a child and he begs her, "Please. Please start yelling at me now."

"I want to," says Morgana, but her voice isn't raised at all, "but I can't. I just—I can't. I want to say you're a horrible person but I can't. I can't at all."

"I'm miserable without him," confesses Arthur. "All of his stuff is here and I can still see all of his shit all over the place and I have nothing to live for, Morgana."

"Shh," says Morgana, taking Arthur in her arms. "Just shut up."

And Arthur wishes, not for the first time, that his mother had lived, because she'd know what to do. She'd know how to make things right.

"I wish I knew what to say," whispers Morgana into his hair. "I wish I knew what to tell you, Arthur."

"Have you seen him?" croaks Arthur into her shoulder.

Morgana sighs. "Not for a week. I'm sorry." She doesn't know what to do, so she just holds him closely, lets her brother cry into her for fucking up the thing that made him happiest. She should be angry, really, after what he did to Merlin, but he's so angry and sad and hurt that there's nothing she can say.

"Shh," she murmurs, holding him closely. "You'll be okay. You'll be fine."

No matter how many times she says it, Arthur doesn't believe her.

Days turn into weeks, and after a month, Morgana shows up with boxes.

"It's time to clean up," she says, which Arthur knows means packing up Merlin's stuff. So when he gets to Merlin's scarf collection—his fucking _scarf collection-_and starts crying, Morgana orders him out while she does the packing.

He finds himself wandering for a bit, walking down the streets of London with no particular destination. He's in a flower shop when he spots him.

It's Lance, picking out a dozen roses one by one, meticulously choosing the perfect ones. Arthur swivels to quickly exit the shop, but it's too late; Lance has already seen him.

"Arthur!" he calls, striding over to him. "How are you?"

Arthur lets out a hiss of a sigh. "Fine," he says, the lie slipping easily onto his lips. "Just fine. You?"

"Great," says Lance, grinning. He looks around and, seeing what he's looking for, calls, "Gwen, come see who it is!"

Gwen. Right.

Gwen turns from the irises an aisle over to see Arthur, and her face is one of immediate worry.

"Hi," she says breathily. Hugging Arthur, she whispers in his ear, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

She blames herself, of course, because she's Gwen and that's what she does. It simultaneously makes Arthur angry and appreciative.

"You looking for flowers?" asks Lance, and Arthur shrugs listlessly.

"Just browsing."

"Gwen and I were—" says Lance, putting an arm around Gwen, but he stops suddenly, becoming interested in the roses once more.

"You and Gwen were what," asks Arthur. He looks at Gwen, who is determinedly avoiding his eyes. "Gwen, _what?"_

"Uh, ring shopping," mutters Gwen, still not meeting his gaze. "Engagementringshopping."

"Oh."

Engagement ring shopping. Quite honestly, Arthur hadn't even realized Gwen and Lance had gotten together, but it wasn't exactly a surprise. It was clear they were mad about each other. And that was nice. Arthur was happy for them. Really.

"Arthur?" says Gwen quietly. "Say something?"

Arthur swallows. "Oh—sorry, yeah. Um, congratulations."

"Oh, we're not engaged yet," says Gwen quickly. Upon seeing Lance's face, she adds hastily, "I mean, we're thinking about it, but it's still, you know—not final."

Poor Gwen looks like she's going to have a stroke.

"I have to go," says Arthur abruptly. He wants to feel badly for bailing. He wants to stay and talk to them. But he does neither. Instead, he turns, leaving Gwen and Lance together in the flower shop.


	7. Alone

"It's supposed to be a sad song," says Sophie into Arthur's chest. Arthur had shown up there a few hours ago. Sophie was already drunk and Arthur was drunk with sadness, and now they're lying in a tangle of sheets and limbs. Sophie turns over under his arm, her skin feeling like satin. "But I always listen to it and feel happy, you know? It's like, he just wants her to know who he is. It makes me so happy."

"Mmm," hums Arthur absentmindedly. Sophie's been talking about "Iris" for the last ten minutes. Arthur can't tell if she's deeply touched by the song or if she's just drunk. Maybe both.

"It's like – he just _really _loves her, you know?" sighs Sophie. She starts to cry a little, and Arthur lets her curl into him. "He just loves her so much," she keeps murmuring listlessly into him, and Arthur wishes he cared.

Arthur leaves when she falls asleep, clutching the pillow next to her.

When he unlocks the door to his apartment, it looks emptier than he's ever seen it. Arthur has never fully appreciated how little he owns—it was all Merlin's. Everything is missing—it looks like he's been robbed. Morgana's made up the bed, finally, and Arthur wants to pull back the sheets frantically to see if it's still held Merlin's shape, but he knows it hasn't.

Morgana's done a thorough job—it's as if Merlin never existed, just a figment of Arthur's imagination.

Arthur is alone.

Morgana is at a loss. Her brother has reached a near-comatose state, listlessly shifting from depressed to moody.

So Morgana does all she can, which involves calling Uther. You might be able to say a number of unflattering things about Uther Pendragon, but that he does not care about his son is not one of them. In fact, Arthur and success are about the only two things Uther concerns himself with.

"What's wrong with him?" Uther demands over the phone.

"He and Merlin broke up," says Morgana, diplomatically deciding to leave out the part in which Arthur cheated on Merlin. Water under the bridge. "And Arthur's been moping for about a month now. I thought he'd snap out of it, but he hasn't. And you're the only person I know who can fix this." There is silence. "Please, Uther. I'm on my knees here."

There is a long moment in which Morgana fears Uther has hung up. He doesn't like doing favors for Morgana, and she half-expects him to say, "I do _not _run errands for you, Morgana." But instead, he says shortly, "I'll be over in half an hour. Notify Arthur."

Uther Pendragon is a man of few words and even fewer emotions. Yet his uncomfortableness with feeling is only matched by his love for his son. And so, one has to sway.

When Uther enters Arthur's apartment using the spare key Morgana gave him, he finds his son in jogging bottoms. _Jogging bottoms. _Uther hasn't seen Arthur in jogging bottoms since he was about six and running through a field.

"Arthur," says Uther in a voice that allows no flexibility, "Let's go to lunch."

Arthur has not even looked up from his spot on his bed. He's staring at where Merlin's desk used to be, with its stacks of nerdy books and his laptop and Lord of the Rings memorabilia.

"I don't very much feel like lunch, Father."

Uther doesn't quite understand: the son he raised wouldn't blatantly disobey him. Why isn't Arthur getting up? With a fight, maybe. But Arthur isn't even making a move.

"Arthur," says Uther more menacingly, "Get dressed. We're lunching."

Arthur remains impassive. "No," he comments casually, "I don't think we are. I think I'll stay here. You can go if you want."

Uther fights the anger brewing in his blood. It's like an animal, Uther's rage, and he's working actively to keep its venom at bay.

"Arthur," Uther tries once more, "You are a Pendragon. You are an intelligent, deeply important person with more to offer the world than this squalor you're living in. Now _please _get up."

The fact that he's begging his son does not suit Uther well, but desperate times call for desperate measures, he supposes.

Yet Arthur does not move. He doesn't even roll over. Doesn't even twitch.

Losing his temper, Uther strides over to his bedside and growls, "If you loved Merlin – _really _loved him – you'd stop sitting in your own self-pity. You are a Pendragon, Arthur. You have dignity. The Arthur I raised would not betray his heritage in such a way as this." Uther pauses. Arthur has tilted his head toward his father, which gives Uther some hope. "Find the Arthur I raised," Uther continues, "and then meet me in the car."

It takes thirty minutes, but Arthur slides gracefully into back of the town car next to his father, freshly showered and wearing a suit.

"Father," Arthur acknowledges with a dip of his head.

They are men of action, not of emotion, so the Pendragon men do not discuss the prior conversation all afternoon. The closest they get is Arthur's quiet, "Thank you for lunch, Father," as the cheque is paid by a quick brandishing of Uther's credit card.

Uther says nothing but hums with quiet satisfaction.

On the way home, Uther tells Arthur, "I called your supervisor and told him you'd had a personal emergency. He also has received ten thousand pounds. You, in turn, have not lost your job at the newspaper. If I hear you've missed even one day for the next three months, I will be _sorely _disappointed."

Burning with shame, Arthur murmurs his gratitude.

When his father's car has pulled away, Arthur goes upstairs, retrieves the jogging bottoms, and throws them in the dustbin.

Arthur scrawls something on a Post-It note from a stack on his desk, walks over to the one that used to belong to Merlin, and tacks it on the hutch atop it.

_Because I love you, I will love myself._

It's a stupidly girly sentiment, Arthur knows, but he also knows it's really only his love of Merlin that will get him through the months ahead. It's not pride in himself, because he hasn't got any, not really, or love of others, because they all pale in comparison. It's knowing that he mucked things up with Merlin, but it's more than that. It's knowing that Merlin was truly the other side of his coin, the one person in the entire world who was more than a person, he was an _event. _He was love itself, and he made Arthur feel safe.

It's this love that makes Arthur want to stop killing himself slowly.

_Because I love you, I will love myself._

Arthur cleans up the flat, cleans out his closet. He's showered and dressed well and living in a nice flat. There's really only one piece left that's tarnishing the perfect Arthur he should be, and that's a stain that will not be rid of easily.

Its name is Sophie, and he's also been fucking it for the past month.

Arthur holds the phone in his left hand, ready to dial.


	8. Mystery Boy

"Arthur!" coos Sophie as she walks into the flat. "You look – you look _fantastic." _She straightens his tie, planting a peck on his lips. She's always loved that kind of stuff, the domestic bullshit that never quite seemed genuine coming from either of them to the other. It always was forced, contrived, so de trop Arthur could scream.

"Sophie," he says, trying to keep his voice blank. If he doesn't, Sophie will turn hysterical. And history shows that Arthur does not deal well with a hysterical Sophie.

"Your hair's getting long," she sighs, stroking the back of his head. "You should come to the salon I just found; it's fantastic. Giorgio will fix you right up."

"Maybe," says Arthur evasively, and then sighs heavily. "Sophie, there's no easy way to say this—"

"Are you hungry?" Sophie asks. "Because I'm famished and there's this cute little place downtown called Valle's and it's just got the _best _fettucini."

"I'm not hungry," says Arthur clearly, and then tries again. "We need to talk—"

"I know what we're talking about," says Sophie suddenly, sharply. "I know you're going to try to end things."

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. "Well…"

"I knew it as soon as you called," Sophie goes on, voice still harsh. "I heard your old voice back and knew it was really only a matter of time…" She sighs mournfully, angrily. "C'est la vie, you know?"

"Old voice," echoes Arthur. "As in…"

"As in how you spoke before you and Mystery Girl broke up," says Sophie firmly. "I knew you were with someone that time we slept together. You thought you were being so sneaky, but you weren't, were you? And then when we slept together afterward, you didn't want to do anything but fuck, and I knew you'd broken up with whoever she was. And now all her stuff is gone, but you're still here, and you're wearing a suit and talking like you're all Fucking Business and fantastic for you, Arthur, really, I'm so fucking happy for you. And the Post-It over there, the _Because I love you, I will love myself _bullshit, so fucking great. Congratufuckinglations, you've discovered self-help books. So I know you're trying to end things, Arthur, and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't act as if you were sorry about it." She looks at him, and Arthur's genuinely frightened of this change, this side he's never seen in her before. "I know you're not," she says in the same strange voice, "and I know you think I'm too stupid to figure it all out. But I'm not."

Arthur stares blankly at her, and then sighs almost inaudibly. "Boy," he mutters so quietly Sophie has to strain to hear him. "Mystery Boy."

"What?" she snaps.

"It wasn't a girl," says Arthur, just a bit louder. "It was a boy. His name was Merlin, and I – and we were in love."

Sophie's face slackens. "What?" she repeats, but it's in shock, complete and utter shock.

"I'm a little bit of a poof now, I guess," says Arthur, laughing nervously. "Or was. I don't know. It's – complicated."

"You were fucking a _man," _says Sophie. "A boy."

"Not exactly," says Arthur. "See, I know it's hard for you to understand, but we didn't fuck until _after _we talked about our feelings for each other."

"I don't believe this," says Sophie softly. "You – we – _we fucked for _months _without a single intimation of feelings and then you go and _fall in love _with a man?"_

The outburst is sudden and jarring, but Arthur can't deny what she's said.

"Yes," he nods. "That's what happened."

"I can't believe this," says Sophie dully, sitting on the edge of the bed as if she can't bear to stand. "I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"This isn't about you, Sophie," says Arthur sharply, and Sophie glares at him. "This really isn't. It's about me, and about Merlin, and about me discovering who I am and who I was and who I want to be. And you know what, Soph? You've really taught me something. You've taught me that I don't want to be self-centered and insensitive. You've taught me that to love someone, truly love them, you have to take pride in yourself. And when you realize that, Sophie, I can't wait for you. Because you'll be unstoppable. But until you do, until you start to _value yourself, _you don't have the faintest idea of how to love someone."

"I loved you," growls Sophie. "I really did. You can't tell me I didn't."

"I thought I loved Merlin, too," counters Arthur. "But I never quite wanted to be – I never wanted to be who I should've been. I was afraid, see, of being myself. Of being who I needed to be for both Merlin and for me. And now I think I understand. And I love Merlin more than I ever did before."

Sophie rises from the bed and for a second, Arthur thinks she's going to say something poignant and sensitive.

"Fuck you," she says, and then she slaps him.

And that's the last time Arthur hears from Sophie.

At least, for six and a half years.

The hardest part for Arthur in the coming weeks is not to delude himself that he is going to "win Merlin back" or any romantic comedy bullshit that he's been taught subliminally since he reached puberty. That he let Merlin get away, and that was that. There really isn't another positive to the situation.

Morgana and Gwen are happier than ever now that Arthur is being more and more himself. Gwen starts talking about her relationship with Lance more and more, or maybe Arthur starts listening more.

"Jesus," says Morgana during lunch one day, "is he going to propose yet?"

"Congratulations," says Arthur dryly to Gwen, "I hadn't realized you and Jesus were dating."

Gwen grins. "No, he hasn't yet. But that's okay. I don't think he needs to. He really wants to, of course. He's very interested in domesticity."

"And you're not?" asks Arthur, the words sounding foreign in his own mouth. Since when is he so _interested _and _invested _in Gwen's love life? In any other person's life in general?

If Gwen is surprised, she doesn't comment. "No, I am," she says, sighing a little. "It's just that we're young, and if we do get engaged, I want it to be a long one. I don't want to miss out on the quintessential young person stuff."

"Like what?" Morgana wants to know.

Gwen laughs. "Like – going to clubs and such. I don't know, things young adults do."

"As a former clubber," says Arthur seriously, "you're really not missing out."

Gwen smiles. "Thank you, Professor Arthur, for your professional opinion."

Arthur flicks his cherry tomato at her.

Across the table, Morgana is beaming at her brother. Because he's given her more than he thinks: he's given her hope that she'll be able to overcome the emotional disabilities she has.

Arthur looks up at Morgana and smiles; it's her fault he's even a little bit normal. He doesn't know whether to thank her or punch her.


	9. Talking

Arthur starts to find a routine. He's not happy, per se, but he also doesn't want to throw himself off a cliff, so he supposes he's making progress. He's enjoying work and hasn't missed a day as per his father's request – or demand, actually.

He goes to work and answers phones and makes revisions and works on side projects and everything is fine and dandy until he hears it.

The cubicle next to him is occupied by Susan Cartwright, a forty-something divorcee with a bad perm and even worse clothes. But she's nice enough, it seems, and she stays out of Arthur's way, which is even nicer.

But despite the cubicles' usual sense of quiet, there is someone yammering in the cubicle next to him.

"It's cucumber eye cream," says the voice. "For night time. Will perk you right up. But I think you should really try this lipstick – there you go – oh, look at that." There's a pause, and the next words are spoken in a gentle tone that sends shivers down Arthur's spine. "You look beautiful, Susan, you really do."

And despite the fact Arthur recognized the voice the second he heard it, it's this admonition – you look beautiful – that makes Arthur drop his pencil.

When he bends to pick it up, he bangs his head and lets out a stream of profanity.

"Arthur, darling, is that you?" Susan asks from the cubicle next to him. "Darling, come over here, I want you to meet someone."

_No, no no no no no nononono_

"Arthur? Darling?"

Arthur's heart is in his throat, it's pushing its way into his mouth and he's going to die, that's all there is to it he's spent so many weeks trying to get his life back together and now fucking Susan is going to ruin it for him, ruin everything fuck fuck fuck

Mechanically, Arthur rises and – he's not sure how – he makes it over to the cubicle next to him.

And there he is.

Merlin. He's with his fucking suitcase and cosmetics and Susan is beaming at them both.

"Arthur, sweetheart, this is Merlin. I _know _we're not supposed to have solicitors inside the office and all, but he was such a sweet boy I just _had _to let him in." Smiling at Merlin kindly, she says, "Merlin, this is Arthur. He works in the cubicle next door."

Merlin meets Arthur's gaze and Arthur wants to cry or throw up or both.

"Nice to meet you," says Merlin, and Arthur can feel his legs shaking beneath him. He's not sure he's going to be able to stand for much longer.

"And you," says Arthur in as even voice a possible and he can't believe it's come to this, can't believe the man he was _in love with _is now pretending not to know him, he thought maybe Merlin would just give a casual, "we've met" and get the fuck out of there but no, he's pretending Arthur isn't even an acquaintance and Arthur wants to be sick.

"I should be going," says Merlin, his voice somewhat abrupt, and Susan can tell she's done something wrong. She looks bewilderedly between the two of them.

"Oh, don't go –" she says pathetically, and Arthur wants to hug her for some reason.

"No, Merlin, stay," says Arthur mechanically. "I'm going out. I'm just – I'm going out."

He walks away from the person who means more than anything in the world to him standing with his suitcase just the way they met.

He's gone, and now Arthur knows for sure. Whatever they had is now just a blip in someone else's memory, and the Merlin that was there is just a stranger, just a solicitor, just a nobody hipster with a stupid scarf, exactly as Arthur had met him.

The months in between are nothing.

Arthur barely makes it into the private bathroom on the fifth floor before he loses it.

His face is still red and blotchy when he reemerges half an hour later, but it's better than he was. He can't stay here. Calling upstairs, he lets his supervisor know that he isn't feeling well and that he'd be leaving a bit early. He figures it isn't really breaking his father's rule.

He makes it to the lobby of the building before becoming paralyzed because Merlin's walking toward him.

"I thought you'd never come downstairs," he says by way of greeting.

Arthur has stopped moving and so has Merlin, and they're an uncomfortable distance apart, limbs stuck to their sides.

"I thought –" begins Arthur, but he doesn't have the words.

"We should probably talk," says Merlin, even though the idea sounds repelling to them both. But Arthur knows it's probably for the better even though he'd rather die and

"We could go to my flat," says Arthur, and Merlin winces when he says 'my' because it used to be his, after all. Everything Arthur owns used to be part Merlin's.

"Yes," says Merlin flatly, and finds himself in the passenger seat of Arthur's car, the same car they used to drive up to the Cotswolds sometimes just to drive past Merlin's village even if they didn't go in, the same car Merlin used to pull over just so they could snog, the same car they fucked in that one time they couldn't wait the four hours it would take to get home.

But it's Arthur's car now, not "the" car, not "their" car. Just Arthur's.

Merlin wants to throw up when Arthur opens the door to the flat.

It's empty. He'd had this illusion that Arthur would have preserved everything in his absence. Of course, it wasn't an absence. It was permanent. It wasn't as if he had ever planned to come back. To be honest, Merlin isn't sure why he'd suggested talking in the first place other than that it seemed like it should be done.

But it's almost too much to take, sitting in the flat that was their home. Domestic bliss. It was only a few months ago that Merlin was in that bed next to Arthur, trying to learn how to cook pancakes even though he never could master flipping them, all his stuff scattered around the flat.

But Arthur has cleaned up and moved on. All Merlin's stuff is gone. He wonders if he threw it out.

Knowing Arthur, it's probably in a storage unit somewhere. Not that Merlin really wants it. He never wants to see it again, actually. All of his things bear too much emotion, too many memories.

Arthur makes them both tea, not saying anything. They sit at opposite ends of the kitchen table, staring at each other.

"So," says Arthur like he did all those months ago, and it makes Merlin want to cry.

"So," echoes Merlin, fiddling with his teabag. "This is us…talking."

Arthur would laugh if he weren't so stunned by all this – Merlin's sudden appearance, desire to "talk."

"Yes."

And then the words leap to Merlin's tongue before he can think about stopping them. "Why did you break up with me? I thought things were going well. We had moved into our new flat and things were fucking _great, _Arthur. I thought you felt what I did."

Arthur bows his head. Merlin wonders if he's crying.

"I did," he says. "I felt what you did."

"So why then?" persists Merlin. "Why did you break up with me?"

"Because I made a mistake," says Arthur, voice still muffled by his bowed head. Merlin has to strain to hear him. "A big fucking mistake. I ruined everything."

Merlin waits for the blow. He still isn't ready for it.

Arthur looks up finally. "I slept with Sophie."

Merlin wants to punch him. He wants to throw his tea at him, overturn the table, shout at the top of his lungs. The combination of angry desire turns into a wounded cat sound.

Arthur is crying a little, and it makes Merlin angrier.

"_What do you have to cry about?" _he shouts at Arthur, wanting only to hurt him, to ruin his life. _"You fucked your ex-girlfriend and then broke up with me! This is all your fault!"_

"I know, I know I know," hiccoughs Arthur. "I know it's all my fault. I wanted to tell you I loved you. That I was in love with you. That I loved you more than anyone or anything."

"And what happened," asks Merlin flatly, and the flatness is even worse than the anger.

"I went upstairs all ready to say it, but Sophie was there and you weren't. And I – I was scared, Merlin. I didn't know who I was or if I wanted to be gay or – "

"So you fucked Sophie."

Arthur shakes his head, trying to clear it. "Yes."

"I was always clear, Arthur," says Merlin in an angrily calm voice, "that I didn't care what you did so long as you were with me. That I loved you and I would wait for you."

"I know," murmurs Arthur, arms shaking, rattling the whole table. "You were so good to me."

Merlin studies Arthur's face for a long moment.

"I don't understand you, Arthur."

Arthur buries his face in a broad hand. "I didn't either, until just recently." He looks up at Merlin again. "After you left, I went crazy."

Merlin does not blink. He is listening.

"I – I wanted to die, to be honest. I stopped sleeping or eating or talking to people. I didn't do anything. I stopped going to work. I was, I mean, this sounds dramatic, fuck, killing myself slowly." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't want your sympathy, and I don't expect it. I'm just trying to make you understand. I had to get Morgana to clear out your stuff because every time I went to do it, I kept breaking down. And eventually, my father slapped me out of it. He told me that if I truly, really loved you, I'd stop wallowing in self-pity." Arthur swallows. "So I did. And that's when I went back to work and - ended things with Sophie. For good. For real." He turns and points to the Post-It attached to Merlin's old desk. "See that? That's what I discovered. That to love you, I had to love myself. It's petty shit, I know. But it's true. And that's what I found out I was missing. That I was so torn up about our relationship because I wasn't comfortable with myself."

Merlin watches him and he wants to believe him. He wants so badly to kiss him, to say that everything would be back the way it was.

But it wouldn't.

It could never be.

So instead of trying to get all his thoughts out, Merlin takes the route Arthur took all those months ago and bolts.

"This was a mistake," says Merlin, and leaves Arthur sitting at the kitchen table, lingering after Merlin's tea.


	10. The Ambush

Morgana calls Arthur the next morning at seven o'clock.

"—"

"What the fuck, Morgana?" moans Arthur into the receiver. "I want to go back to bed."

"You aren't—you aren't still up and panicking?"

"About what," asks Arthur, thinking mostly about rolling over and ignoring her phone call.

"About—seeing Merlin yesterday."

And the second she says it, Arthur remembers that it happened and that he could never again pretend it didn't.

"Fuck," he breathes, and Morgana realizes what she's done.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I—"

"It's fine," says Arthur flatly, but it isn't because he's sure yesterday was the last time he'd ever see Merlin.

"It's just—he called me."

"Who?" asks Arthur tiredly, bored of playing guess who with Morgana by now.

"Merlin."

"Fuck," repeats Arthur, and Morgana is humming nervously on the other end of the line. "What did he say?"

"He said that he saw you and things didn't go well, but that he misses me and Gwen and wants to see us."

It's more than he can take, the fact that Merlin wants to see Morgana and Gwen but not him.

"And then he said he wanted to see you."

"And he couldn't tell me that himself?" demands Arthur hotly. "What are you, his fucking messenger?"

"No, it wasn't like that," protests Morgana hastily. "It was like – a confession. He admitted he wants to see you but that after yesterday he doesn't know what to do about it."

"Fuck," says Arthur once more, and Morgana makes a sound. "Fuck. Fuck fuck."

"Yeah," agrees Morgana. "Basically."

"Did he – did he want to _see _me, see me or just _see me?_"

"I don't know what the fuck that means," says Morgana. "But it sounded like he misses you."

"I don't – I love him," blurts out Arthur suddenly, awkwardly, and he can hear Morgana smile on the other end.

"I'm proud of you," she says at length. "I'm proud of how far you've come."

"I don't even know if I've made progress," says Arthur tiredly. "I thought I had, but after talking with Merlin, I feel like I'm back where I've started."

"You're not," says Morgana firmly. "I see the changes." She sighs. "I hope you will too soon."

"So what now," says Arthur flatly.

"We'll invite him over," says Morgana, "and I'll tell you when and then you can just pop over and it will be so much fun and horribly awkward."

"Fuck," repeats Arthur again.

"That's the spirit!" says Morgana cheerfully, and she hangs up the phone.

Arthur shows up too early. Of course.

"You're not supposed to be here," stammers Gwen. "You're supposed to come at seven."

"It is seven," says Arthur, and Gwen shakes her head. "It's six thirty."

"Which is my version of seven," says Arthur, and Gwen groans.

"We forgot to schedule in Arthur's OCD," she calls over her shoulder, and Morgana, whose hair is still in curlers, shrieks.

"You can't be here! Merlin's not here yet! Leave!"

"I'm not leaving," says Arthur staunchly, and Morgana pulls curlers out of her hair fanatically. "Fine, it will be an ambush oh _God. _Merlin's going to be here any minute I cannot _believe _you ugh."

Gwen is looking out the window comically, leaving Arthur standing in the foyer holding his bottle of wine.

"He's here oh God he's here," shouts Gwen, and Morgana stumbles back into the room, shoving heels onto her feet and pulling something out of the oven. "Places. This is not a drill."

"Sit down, Arthur, at the table, shit," says Morgana, lighting some candles on the table.

"He's getting out of the car and entering the building let's _go," _shouts Gwen despite the proximity of both Morgana and Arthur.

"Stairs he's coming up the stairs," Gwen explodes, and Morgana shoves Arthur into a seat around the table. "Just sit down."

There is a knock at the door.

"It's show time," breathes Gwen, and opens the door.


	11. A Choice

"Hey, Gwen," says Merlin cheerily, pecking her on the cheek. But it's while he's bent to kiss her that he catches sight of Arthur at the table, his features clouding immediately. "What the fuck," he snaps. "Is this a fucking _ambush?" _

"It was supposed to be a classier one," grumbles Morgana, "but yes. Guilty. Gwen and I are sick of seeing you both miserable and we planned this little thing. So you can either leave now or try and talk to us all. Including Arthur."

Arthur could kiss his sister right now. His mouth seems to be glued shut and he can barely breathe, let alone defend himself.

Wordlessly, Merlin sits down next to Arthur. Arthur can feel the heat radiating from his body and he wants to die.

Morgana serves a full turkey with plates of potatoes for everyone.

"Were you planning on feeding a nation, or just an army?" asks Arthur snidely, and Merlin coughs conspicuously. Arthur snaps his head sideways, watching the corners of Merlin's mouth twitch upward just a fraction of an inch. But it's gone as quickly as it came.

"Let's talk about things," says Gwen cheerfully. "Merlin, how's life how are things how are you?"

"What?" asks Merlin blankly. "Um, I guess I've been well."

"Good," says Morgana awkwardly. "Uh, that's great."

"This was your plan," says Merlin, the smile flashing briefly on his lips again, "to lure me here under false pretenses and then make horrible conversation."

Arthur snorts into his chicken.

Merlin glances sideways at him, his heart pounding in his throat.

Morgana smiles at Gwen. Gwen looks at her potatoes.

Arthur taps his foot nervously. He wants to throw up. And he also has words in his head, spiraling out of control, his hands shaking.

And then he's saying them.

"Merlin," he says suddenly, ignoring Morgana and Gwen, who are staring at them. "Merlin, I'm in love with you. I love you more than anything and you're the best thing that ever happened to me. You have made me a better person. And if things don't work out between us, I can't live with the fact that we don't even speak. I'm in love with you, Merlin Emrys. I'm in – "

But Merlin slams his lips onto his.

"Wow," says Gwen to Morgana. "I wasn't expecting that."

Morgana grins. "I was."

Merlin pulls back, his hand still curled around Arthur's neck.

"Um, shit," murmurs Merlin. "I don't know why – "

Arthur is grinning. "I do."

"I do, what?" asks Merlin.

"I know why you did that," says Arthur ecstatically. "It's because you're in love with me."

"I hate you," says Merlin, but it's not convincing at all. Arthur is beaming.

"You, Merlin, are in love with me! How the tables have turned!"

"Shut up," snaps Merlin.

"Oh, don't be all angsty," says Arthur, nudging his face next to Merlin's. "Don't you get it? I fucked up and you still love me after all this. You _love _me."

"I really do not," says Merlin, but he hasn't moved his hand yet.

"I'm going to kiss you right now," says Arthur slowly, "and you're not going to resist because you're in love with me." He moves his face inches from Merlin's. "If you pull away, then I'll leave and I'll know I was wrong." He moves in more. "But if you don't…"

Merlin doesn't pull away.

When Arthur pulls back, he's grinning widely.

"You're in love with me, Merlin Emrys. You're in love with me."

"You broke my heart," says Merlin quietly. "I loved you and trusted you and then you broke my heart."

Arthur's smile fades, his face growing serious. "I'm sorry," he says for the first of many times. "I will never be able to say that enough. But you will always love me."

Merlin sighs. "I wish I could stop."

"But," says Arthur positively, "you can't."

Merlin exhales. "No, I can't."

"This is adorable," says Morgana loudly, and Arthur jumps.

"We're going to leave now," says Merlin, still not looking away from Arthur.

"We're going to have sex at the apartment," says Arthur, and Merlin smiles.

"Maybe."

Arthur, of course, is right.

Merlin wakes up the next morning, feeling as if he has transported to several months ago. Arthur's arm is draped around him, and Merlin's heart aches distinctly.

Beside him, Arthur stirs. "Morning," he murmurs into his kiss, and Merlin closes his eyes.

"Things are different," says Arthur in Merlin's ear. "I promise they're different."

Merlin says nothing, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Arthur is like the sun – he can barely look at him; he's too bright – it's difficult.

"Merlin," says Arthur gently, pulling Merlin closer to him with both arms, "Look at me."

Merlin turns his head. Arthur is there, gleaming golden in the morning sun pouring in through the windows. His eyes are lit, giant blue orbs. He's so dream-like that if Merlin couldn't feel his arms around his middle, he'd think he was still asleep.

"I will never break your heart again," says Arthur, reading Merlin's mind.

Merlin sighs. "You don't know that. You can't promise that."

"Merlin," repeats Arthur, "I will _never _break your heart again."

"I – " begins Merlin, but he can't finish the thought – he doesn't even _have _a thought to begin with. Instead, he buries his face into Arthur's neck, tears dripping onto Arthur's chest, Arthur's arms encircling him tighter, whispering a river of things into his hair, and everything is Arthur Arthur Arthur.

Everything has always been Arthur and everything always will be.

Arthur is not the most reliable of people. He is quite terrible at expressing his feelings, worse at being flexible, and dislikes most of the things Merlin likes. But he wasalso perhaps the most magnificent human being Merlin had ever met. And he was _his. _

And he always would be.


	12. Epilogue

Six and a half years later

The phone is ringing off the hook.

"Fuck, Merlin, please get the phone!" shouts Arthur. He's shaving because he and Merlin are – God, it's still weird – groomsmen in Lance's wedding to Gwen. They're not even _close _to being ready and honestly, Arthur's panicking because it's his ex-girlfriend's wedding and he still feels a little bad about it but mostly he's just happy but what if he fucks it up – he'd never forgive himself for fucking up Gwen's wedding. But Merlin's been calming him down all afternoon, being lovely and supportive as usual.

But that doesn't mean he's going to answer the damn phone.

"Can't, love!" shouts Merlin without an ounce of sarcasm what the _fuck, _"I'm busy!"

"Goddammit," mutters Arthur. More loudly he shouts, "You're fucking _dead to me!"_

"Love you!" shouts Merlin back cheerfully.

Arthur drops his razor and slams the phone against his shaving-creamed face.

"Hello?" he asks somewhat grumpily.

"Hello," says a voice. "It's your past."

It's Sophie.

"Shit," breathes Arthur automatically. "I mean – hi – um, how are you?"

Sophie laughs and it's still girly, light, but it's less shrill than he remembers. Of course, he's tried to block a lot of her existence from his brain, truthfully speaking.

"Brilliant," she says, and Arthur can hear her smiling through the phone. "Well, listen, I'll get straight to the point," says Sophie, which sounds nothing like his ex at _all, _but Arthur's just going with it. "I wanted to thank you," she says, "for what you said to me all those years ago."

Arthur's mind stretches back to the last time he heard from Sophie, six and a half years prior.

_You've taught me that to love someone, truly love them, you have to take pride in yourself. And when you realize that, Sophie, I can't wait for you. Because you'll be unstoppable. But until you do, until you start to value yourself, you don't have the faintest idea of how to love someone._

"Oh," says Arthur vaguely. "Right. And why's that?"

"Because I got engaged last night," says Sophie, and Arthur's jaw actually falls open like in a cartoon.

"—W—Wow," stammers Arthur. "Congratulations. And I – I helped?"

"Absolutely," says Sophie. "It took me a long time to realize that you were right. But I did, finally, when I hit bottom and nearly _died –"_

"_What?"_

"—I had done too much cocaine the night before, _to_tally burned my brains out. Anyway, when I recovered medically, I served some time – "

"_What?"_

"—and entered rehab. I've been clean, completely clean, for about three years now and met my fiancée a year and a half ago, and he just proposed finally last night. But the thing is – the thing is, I only realized I had to go to rehab when I was lying in my hospital bed, half-dead, and I thought to myself, _I'm better than this. _And suddenly your voice was in my head and I knew what I had to do." She pauses thoughtfully. "You saved my life, Arthur."

"Fuck," breathes Arthur. "I—I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," says Sophie. "I just needed to say that. You've been on my mind lately. I also – I also wanted to apologize. For that day at your flat."

"Yeah, well," mumbles Arthur. "We both fucked up that day."

Sophie laughs quietly. "Things end up alright with Mystery Boy? Merlin, yeah?"

Arthur glances over his shoulder to where Merlin is eyeing himself in the mirror dramatically. Unable to resist smiling, he says, "Yeah. Things ended up alright."

"I'm glad for you," says Sophie.

"You too."

There is a short pause. "Well," says Sophie, "I should go. But we should – my fiancée and me and you and Merlin – we should all get coffee or something sometime. Would that be okay?"

"I think so," says Arthur. "It was nice to hear from you." And he means it.

"Bye, Arthur."

"Bye, Sophie."

Arthur leaves the room feeling dazed.

"Who was it?" asks Merlin quickly, pretending he hadn't been admiring himself in front of the mirror.

Arthur smiles. "It was – it was Sophie, actually."

Merlin's eyebrows skyrocket.

"She wanted to tell me that I saved her life."

Merlin does not looked as shocked as Arthur thinks he probably ought to in this situation. Instead, he fiddles with the sleeves of his tuxedo – always fiddling. He smiles at Arthur awkwardly.

"You've got a habit of doing that," he murmurs to the floor. "Because you kind of saved mine too."

Arthur swells with something he imagines is pride and love and humility. He walks over to Merlin, wrapping his arms around his skinny torso.

"I love you, Merlin," says Arthur firmly, and he's still surprised how happy it makes him to say. "Now come on, you sod, we've got a wedding to go to."


End file.
